It’s hard for me to love other people. It’s even harder for me to love myself.
I was driving home from work Monday evening and I had just angrily hung up the phone. A woman had called me from a company that did some work at my house a few years ago. I didn’t like the way the company was handling its business with me, but it was nothing personal with the woman.
The thing that annoyed me wasn’t her fault. She was just reading a script. She was doing her job. But I was in a bad mood — and I took out my frustrations on her.
I wasn’t nasty or rude, but I certainly wasn’t kind or loving.
As I drove the rest of the way down I-459 toward home, I stewed in my irritation, but my annoyance quickly turned toward myself. I wasn’t upset with that woman or her company.
I lectured myself about being a hypocrite. I berated myself about my unwillingness to live up to my values when it wasn’t convenient — when I wasn’t in the right mood.

Reading people is a survival skill which all children need to learn
If you listen carefully, your heart will tell you what you really need
Does every loss of love finally become a case of ‘sour grapes’?
As our heroes grow old and die, it’s a reminder of our mortality
Concerns about digital future leave me mourning analog past
Banned Super Bowl ads? It’s a new way for you to cheaply play victim
Donald Trump is no conservative; he’s an immoral, narcissistic liar
Outraged folks around world letting Diane Tran know she’s not alone
Patterns that made old mistakes keep us making same old errors